


Don't Be Told It Can't Be Done

by brokenbravery



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2013-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-14 07:44:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/834416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenbravery/pseuds/brokenbravery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry gets scared a lot and Louis gets angry a lot and squirrels are better than humans.</p><p>Or, the one in which both boys are very messed up, and they fall in love in a forest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Be Told It Can't Be Done

**Author's Note:**

> Yay I have an AO3 now this is a thing alright cool~
> 
> K so 11k happened in one day and this is the finished product. 
> 
> Trigger warning for anxiety disorder, mood disorder/anger management(??), drug use, swearing, and very small mentions of abuse. I apologize in advance for the gratuitous animal comparisons, I don't know what happened there.
> 
> Title from Free by Twin Atlantic.

Harry meets Louis with leaves in his hair and dirt on his clothes, and he could not look any more ridiculous, and Louis could not look any more perfect, and yet the boy just sits down beside him and replaces each crumbling leaf with a freshly plucked yellow dandelion.

It's the start of something special, something different.

*

You see, Harry likes to spend time outside. He likes to lay in the grass and wedge in his headphones and listen to music so loudly it drowns out everything else. He likes to watch clouds drift by and feel the sunshine on his skin, even though he burns more often than not because sunscreen is just something he doesn't have the patience for.

He needs all this, because it’s his escape.

Louis slowly starts to become a part of that.

*

“Do you think if I were a squirrel, I’d be one of the cute fluffy grey ones, or one of the grouchy, scary black ones?” Louis asks, as if this is a normal question. It probably is, considering.

“Cute and fluffy, definitely.” Harry nods. “Those little brown ones with the poufy tails and the eyes that make you give them half your sandwich.”

Louis seems pleased at this, smiling bright like a flame.

“Good. I wanna be a squirrel in my next life.” He nods. “Much better than being a human, don't you think?”

“Definitely.” Harry says, and he means it.

*

Harry goes to therapy twice a week and gets special treatment at work because he’s so anxious a whistling kettle can set him off. Life is a struggle, everything is a struggle, except when he can lie back and become a part of nature, not exist to the rest of the world, for a bit.

Louis changes this too, like he changes lots of things.

Slowly, and in his own lovely way.

*

“I’m fucked up, Harry.” Louis had said the second time they found each other in the forest of greengreengreen. His eyes had darkened as if slipping into some shade on a hot summer’s day, except there wasn't a shadow in sight.

“So am I.” Harry had shrugged.

Louis hummed a scoff (he’s never met someone who could do that before) and challenged “I doubt you’re as bad as me.”

“I could say the same.” Harry reasoned, watching the bright leaves pirouette above them. “But that’s just both of us being egoistical, in our own twisted way.”

Louis had fallen silent for a while, wetting pink lips with a pinker tongue. “I like you.” He decided, then. “We should be friends.”

And so they were.

*

Harry doesn't like hearing his mother talk on the phone with Jim, his therapist. Because while he may be open with her knowing some things, he hates hearing hushed, daunting words like _very depressed_ , and _panic disorder_ , and _medicated_. All he’s ever wanted to be was normal, and it seems like he’s just never going to get there.

*

“What’s your biggest fear?” Harry asks Louis, watching smoke swirl from the end of his fag. It’s four in the evening and the air is beginning to cool, but neither of them plan on moving for a while.

Louis makes a small sound, thinking on it. “People.” He mutters. “Because people are mean, and judgemental, and self centered, and I’m sick of it.”

It’s a confession laced with anger that pulses out into the little den they’ve built themselves, up against a big tree, sectioned off from the rest of the world.

“Yeah.” Harry sighs, leaning his head on Louis’ shoulder, feeling the boy rest his cheek against his curls. “That’s why I like you, cause you’re different.”

He can almost _feel_ the smile. “I like you too, Haz.”

And they smoke and they talk and they don't, and everything is nice, for once.

*

Harry’s doing better on his new meds, but only by a bit. None of them ever really do much, so he’s learned not to get his hopes up. He still gets dizzy with fear getting on a bus, and all choked up trying to order a coffee. But he can leave the house a little easier, which means he can go to the forest more, and see Louis more, and be happy more.

*

Louis is gorgeous, is the thing. He’s all tempting skin and feline smiles, eyes as blue as the sky and hands as soft as satin. He wears clothes that hug all the right curvy places, and his shoes always have pen scrawled on them. He likes to talk about strange things, each more interesting than the last, and soon it's clear that he's a bit like a human Discovery Channel. What Harry didn't expect, was to love it as much as he does.

*

“I lost a friend today.” Louis says before he even sits down. He looks drained and defeated and many other things he shouldn't.

“Why?” Harry questions softly, shifting up to be eye level.

Louis huffs, embarrassed, staring at his fidgeting fingers. There’s a dragonfly perched two feet away from them, watching the exchange very closely, and Harry has the strange urge to ask it for some privacy, please.

“I get angry sometimes. I can’t control it. And I got angry and yelled and called him names, and he did the same back, and then he said we’re not friends anymore.” Louis frowns. “I didn't mean it. It’s. I don't control it? I can’t.”

“M’sorry, Lou.” Harry murmurs, leaning over to hug him for the first time. Louis all but melts into it, warm and solid against him, breath coming in puffs against his shoulder.

“You believe me, right?” The smaller boy asks quietly, desperate. “That I can’t control it? I try so hard, and nobody believes me.”

There’s a telling wetness on Harry’s skin, but he doesn't react, simply holding him closer. “Of course I believe you. I know you wouldn’t lie about that. You’re doing your best, and that’s all anyone can ask.”

“They always try to ask more, though.” Louis mumbles.

“Yeah.” Harry sighs. “Yeah, I know.”

*

It becomes almost an everyday thing. The two will meet at their spot in the woods, and they’ll sit or sprawl or smoke or talk, and sometimes they eat and sometimes they drink and one time Louis brings little stamps that dissolve on their tongues like candy, making the sights around them dance and sing and shine. Louis’ never looked more beautiful than in those blurry moments, when he stared hard at the branches around them and thought no one was watching.

Harry’s always watching.

*

“So if we _were_ squirrels, would you be my squirrel husband?” Louis asks, passing Harry the bag of goldfish crackers. They toss a few to random places, for the wildlife around them.

“Yeah.” Harry smiles. He imagines it in his head; living in a tree trunk with Louis and not panicking about everything that comes with being a human. They could have a little adopted squirrel family, and the only thing to worry about would be whether enough they had enough acorns to last the through the winter. Harry has a feeling Louis would keep him very warm during those months, cuddling up close in their home and twining their tails together. “Yeah, I definitely would. It’d be nice.”

Louis flushes a pretty color and fixes his fringe with sharpie scribbled fingernails. “You’d really wanna be with me? Assuming I’d still be _me_ , as a squirrel.” He clarifies.

Harry nods, stomach doing a little nervous jig. Not the bad kind though, he notes. The Louis kind.

“Yeah. You understand me better than they do.” He explains.

“And who’s _they_?” Louis questions, stealing a cracker from between Harry’s lips. In any other situation it would have him completely wrong footed, but not now.

“Everyone. The whole world thinks I’m such a basket case because I get so scared all the time, and like. It’s like I’m the fucking cowardly lion, or summat.” He huffs, rolling his eyes.

Louis frowns and scoots a little closer. “Well I know you’re not like that. You’re a brave lion, Hazza. Cause you do get so scared all the time, and you still get through it. That takes a lot, and I see that. They might not, but I do.”

He strokes over Harry’s cheek, drawing out a half dimple.

“I know. That’s why I like you.” Harry smiles.

Louis smiles back, and holds his hand for the rest of the day. It fits perfectly against his own, and it almost hurts physically to let it go when they part.

*

Sometimes Harry takes more pills than he’s supposed to. It’s not like he does it for attention, or just to abuse them in the first place. He does it because sometimes everything around him is so scary that it feels like the walls are closing in and his lungs are being crushed and each bone in his body will freeze over until he’s curled up in a ball on his bed, sobs ragged and breathing rare. If he takes two pills instead of one, that fades. If he takes three, it goes away.

He takes three, and he knows Louis knows the second the boy spots his dilated eyes.

“Are you alright?” He asks tentatively, cupping Harry’s cheek. He’s so _soft_ with him, such a contrast to his supposed tantrums.

“Yes.” Harry sighs dreamily. Louis looks beautiful, and he wants to spend forever right here with him. They can pretend to be squirrels and hide from the real world. “I had a bad morning but pills made it okay again.”

Louis nods, looking a little disappointed, but not in Harry himself. Which is a good thing, because any disappointment triggered guilt would definitely override the high.

“Okay. Do you want to just have a cuddle?” He asks, and Harry nods fervently.

Louis bops him on the nose and snuggles in close, legs tangling in between weeds and tree roots. He smells like fruity shampoo, and Harry buries into his hair to get a better whiff, feeling the scent wash over him like a safety blanket. Jim uses that phrase a lot, and Harry thinks that he finally understands what it means.

“You make me happy.” He undertones, breathy.

“Yeah? More than pills?” Louis inquires, stroking up his sides. Harry hates when people touch him. But Louis is not People.

“Yeah. Yeah, pills make me calm but you make me happy. Happy is better than calm.” He states, almost to himself.

“But wouldn’t you rather be calm? Because you’re so... _not_ , usually?” Louis rumbles against his collarbone. He bites at it, and Harry grins.

“No. I like the world better when you’re with me.” He explains. “You make everything better.”

It’s then that Louis cranes up and kisses him, tender and slow and a little bit fuzzy because of the pills. But it’s amazing, so amazing, and though Harry’s a bit nervous in the back of his mind, wondering if he’s doing it right, if he’s messing it up, Louis guides him with a hand to his jaw and pours all the encouragement of the sun into his lips, and it’s _perfect_.

Everything is perfect when Louis is in the world.

“Stay with me tonight.” Harry whispers in the after-kiss, hovering close enough that their breath mingles. “Stay as late as you can, and we can watch the stars.”

“Okay.” Louis smirks, tickled pink. “Did you know that it takes so long for the light of stars to get here that when we look up at them, we’re actually looking into the past? How cool is that? I wish I could time travel, I'd love to see dinosaurs.”

And then Louis is rambling again, like he always is, and Harry is very much content to sit back and listen, like he always does.

*

“You’d make a good squirrel.” Louis nods one day, matter-of-factly. “Because it’s always the dumb ones that aren’t scared and run out into the road and get hit, innit? You wouldn’t have that problem.”

Harry snorts into his shoulder. “Mm, I guess not. Would you? I think you would.”

“Tell me not to do something and I’ll do it, so. I’d definitely end up road kill.” Louis muses. He’s playing with their fingers, like he often is, always having extra energy. Harry likes feeling his pulse through the pad of his thumb, a steady _taptaptap_.

“Nah, I’d keep you safe. Tell you not to kiss me.” Harry timidly dares, raising a hopeful eyebrow.

Louis kisses him so far into the grass he swears he’s blending into it, becoming a part of it, leaving parts of his soul between scratchy green blades.

He grabs a fistful and sprinkles it over Louis’ head, just to hear his scandalized laughter.

*

It’s every day now that they hang out, rolling about on the forest floor, attached at the mouths. But not always. Sometimes they do what they’ve always done, and sometimes they just hold each other. They’re good at that, good at being a constant for each other when things get tough. Things are always tough.

*

Louis’ eyes have a defensive glint in them that Harry’s never seen before, and he’s nervous. The boy is a little short with him today, snippy and broodish, going through three smokes in a row.

Harry reaches out to take a drag, and Louis snaps.

“Don’t fucking touch my fag.” The boy growls, so unlike him, and _oh_. So this is what he meant. This is the other side of him, the bad one. Okay.

“Sorry.” Harry mumbles, taking his hand away. He doesn't know what to do, to avoid provoking him, to make it better, so he just plays music on his i-pod and stays quiet.

After a few songs and some tense silence between them, Harry asks a simple “Bad day?” and Louis’ temper flares again, like a burst of flames off the surface of the sun.

“Fuck off, as if you care.” He seethes, glaring at a bird up above. It flaps its wings, and he gives it the finger.

“I do, actually.” Harry heaves a sigh.

This just angers Louis further.

“No you don't. Don't act like you do. Everyone always pretends they do, and then they don't, as soon as they actually have to deal with me and my fucking issues.” He spits. “Everyone is so fucking fake, the whole goddamn world, and I don't want to live in it anymore.”

Harry thinks maybe he should feel some concern about that but he doesn't, because he’s thought the same thing countless times.

Louis stands up to pace, fuming, running his hands through his feather-fine hair.

“But _we’re_ not fake, Lou, you know that.” Harry attempts, feeling out of place. He still doesn't panic, but he’s getting closer.

“You could be lying to me. I bet you’re lying to me. Everyone lies to me because they’re afraid of my reactions to things.” Louis rants, getting louder and louder, scaring off the bird from before. “But it’s not my fucking fault I’m different! They all get to be normal with their normal fucking lives and I’m _this_ and everyone hates me!”

He’s yelling now, red in the face and cursing as he kicks at a tree. Harry stands, shakily, and shuffles closer.

“I don't hate you.” He speaks, small.

Louis spins to pierce with burning eyes. “You should. You should! They all do! Because I’m scary! And you’re a fucking coward and you should hate me!”

And it stings like a wasp but Harry knows this isn’t his Louis, _knows_.

“But I don't! And I’m not fucking going anywhere so get over it!” He shouts back, echoing in the clearing.

“You should! You need to leave!” Louis yells, beginning to cry, shoulders quivering. “You need to get away from me! People say I’m bad, Harry, I’m a poison, you need to get away! Go!”

“No.” Harry utters.

“Leave!” Louis screams, tears on his cheeks.

“No.” Harry says again.

“Harry!” He sobs, beginning to lose it.

“No.” Harry hushes, and hauls him into a hug. Louis’ knees are close to giving out so Harry goes with it and crumples to the dirt path with him, kissing at his neck. “Shh, no, I’m here.”

“Why?” Louis wails, twitching like he wants to struggle out of his grasp, but won’t.

“Because I want to be. Because I like you. The real you, Louis, not this one. This one is the bad that comes with the good, and I’ll stick through it.” Harry promises. “You’re _worth it_ , babe.”

Louis cries for a long, long time, angry tears and half-shouted insults, aimed at both himself and Harry, but the taller boy never lets go of him, never moves them, just wraps around him and stays there, like an octopus.

“Stay with me.” Louis sniffles, later. “Please. Stay and watch the stars again.”

“Okay.” Harry nods. “Tell me more about them?”

Louis frowns, doubtful, but Harry just raises an encouraging eyebrow.

So Louis tells him about all the stars and the solar system and the universe, and he hangs onto every word, enamoured.

Louis has a shy, pleased smile on by the time they’re discussing alien civilizations.

*

“Oh my god, Hazza, look.” Louis whispers excitedly under the sound of the tickling breeze, pointing to their left. About five feet away, there’s a small, furry red squirrel, tentatively edging towards them and their bag of trail mix. “That one even looks like you.”

“It does _not_.” Harry laughs, nudging Louis in the ribs.

“Does so! Here, see if you can feed it.” The boy encourages, handing him the bag.

They’re laying on their sides, propped up on elbows and almost spooning, and Louis settles his chin in the junction of Harry’s neck and shoulder. He smiles and grabs some of the snack in his hand, holding it out carefully for the animal. It’s funny, because normally he’d never do this, brain would be too busy whirring on about rabies and sharp teeth and sharper claws, but with Louis rubbing at his tummy like a mother would her sick child, his head is delightfully empty.

The squirrel skitters closer, and then back, and then closer, and then back. Louis coaches it with a cooed _here, Mr. Squirrel_ and eventually, its confidence peaks and it grabs for the nuts in his palm, stuffing them in chubby cheeks. Louis kisses Harry’s own cheek, and he giggles.

“Here, you too.” He murmurs, and Louis links their fingers, guiding him to offer up more food. Mr. Squirrel takes it happily, little paws stuffing it into his mouth.

Louis snorts at the image, and the sound startles the critter enough that it scampers away. Harry pouts, but his favorite boy kisses it away.

“Bet you could fit lots in these cheeks.” Louis states with a wink. “I can tell, somehow.”

Harry hums mischievously and kisses down his throat to suck a mark into his skin.

And if he sinks even lower on and proves to Louis just how much he can fit in his mouth, then, well. It was bound to happen sometime, and the trees can keep their secret.

*

When Harry finally tells Jim about Louis, the older man is surprised, and worried. He explains that while he’s glad Harry has a ‘friend’, it could potentially be dangerous, fucking off to the middle of the woods every day to spend time with a messed up boy he hardly knows. But Harry is aware of this, was prepared for this, and he simply says that Louis is in his life, whether Jim likes it or not. Jim gives, and moves on.

*

They decide to stay out one night, proper camping style, with a tent and blankets and marshmallows on sticks over a flickering fire. Louis has never looked so alive, basking in the orange glow, and Harry thinks he’s falling, falling, falling.

Sparks crackle and an owl hoots somewhere over their shoulders, making Harry jump. Louis huffs a fond chuckle and wraps an arm around him, pulling him close.

They barely get any sleep, too busy snogging and shagging and stargazing through the netted hole at the top of the tent, because Harry was too afraid to stay outside, but Louis never stops smiling, so the whole thing is a success, really.

*

The world is a cruel place sometimes, Harry has learnt. A lot of the time, actually. People are rude, uncaring, unforgiving. The only thing anyone gives two fucks about is themselves, and the only way you can get an ounce of kindness out of most is through a pathetic, pitiful gaze at the poor curly haired stock boy who looks petrified at the impatient question being asked of him.

The day is too long and too eventful and by the time Harry clocks out and makes the equally stressful bus trip to the forest path, he’s shaking in his boots and trying very hard to time his breathing.

He gets to their spot before Louis, which is common, as that boy doesn't really know the meaning of _on time_. Normally, this would cause a bit of an internal hurricane for Harry, but not with Louis. Never with Louis.

Except Louis’ not here right now, and everything that’s been building up throughout the day is suddenly crushing him, and he can feel the familiar bursts of panic and helplessness bash at his heart, and his throat is constricting and his hands are trembling and he has to clunk his head onto his knees, which are pulled tightly into his chest, because everything is going a bit wobbly.

By the time Louis does arrive, Harry’s mid attack, crying and shivering and all but hyperventilating.

And then there are warm arms around him, and soft lips on his forehead, and gentle, soothing words being hushed into his hair.

“Shh, shh, everything’s okay, I’m here baby, shh, can you breathe for me? It’d be great if you could breathe for me, love, or else I’m gonna panic too and that’ll be a right mess, yeah?” Louis’ babbling, rocking him back and forth.

Harry can feel his limbs unlock, and his lungs gasp into action.

“There you go, good boy, thank you.” Louis encourages. “Everything’s alright, you know that, you’re here with me now and it’s just the two of us, nobody else in the whole wide world, just you and me, Curly Squirrelly.”

Harry stammers a sob into Louis’ neck, inhaling his scent. He always smells like a mix of name brand cologne, citrus shampoo and cigarette smoke. It’s an unnameable combination, and it does things to Harry’s heart.

But at least his pulse is at a normal rate now, crying beginning to slow, breathing as close to average as it’ll get any time soon.

Eventually Louis coaxes him out, and peppers kisses to his blotchy cheeks. “What happened, baby doll?”

Harry smirks a little at his adorable weirdness, and shrugs a weak shoulder. “People stress me out, Louis.”

Louis frowns sympathetically, stroking under Harry’s eye in fish tail swishes of his index finger. “People suck.” He hums in agreement.

“I wish I could get away from people. All of them, you know? Like, I dunno. Sometimes, I just.” He cuts off, aftershock of his sobbing fit running through him and making him shudder. “Sometimes it’s not worth it anymore, because people ruin me, and they can't fix me, and nobody wants me, and yet people are _everywhere_.”

He hisses it into Louis’ wrist, eyes squeezed shut.

“I want you.” The lovely, honeysweet voice he’s come to treasure swears to him. “And I don't think you need fixing. I like you and want you just the way you are.”

“But I’m broken.” Harry whimpers. “I can't do anything, everything is too much, I’m useless.”

“Hey, now that’s not true.” Louis corrects sternly. “Last week you let me help you climb up this tree, high enough that even _I’d_ be a bit nervous, and then you let us _stay there_. What are you talking about, _useless?_ You conquered one of your biggest fears like it was nothing!”

Harry wants to preen under the affection, but doesn't, pouting stormily instead. “But being afraid of heights is a stupid fear.”

“No fears are stupid, Harry. What’s that saying, _what’s normal to the spider is chaos to the fly?_ Well, you’re the fly, and normal things are just harder for you to handle. Doesn't mean you can't get past them, if you keep trying. Not all flies get stuck in webs, you know? If you fight enough, you can unstick yourself.” Louis explains, and fuck, okay, because since when did he become a not-so-eloquent philosopher?

Harry smiles, all teeth. “You’re wonderful, you know that?” He whispers, grateful. “You’re so wonderful, I don't know how I got so lucky.”

Louis giggles and ducks his head, tucking it into Harry’s chest. “It wasn't luck, goofball, it’s clearly fate. Do you think fate’s a thing? I think fate’s a thing. I mean, things are... _things_ , but, like, fate could _technically_ be a thing, you know?”

And Harry _doesn't_ know, has no bloody idea what he’s on about, actually, but he could listen forever and he intends to, so he nods and waits for him to continue.

Louis talks for hours, like it’s his default setting, and it lulls Harry into a state of serene calm that he’s never experienced before in his life.

*

They spend more time together, tangled up in each other, learning the hiding place of each freckle, the home of each scar. They tell stories and daydream and make up adventures they’d go on in alternate realities. They usually come back to squirrels.

*

Harry is sad when he has to stay home. He’s nineteen, sure, but he still lives with his mum and she makes the rules under that roof, so if she tells him he needs to spend more time there, he can't really argue. He doesn't hate it, no, but she doesn't quite understand him, doesn't take the time to think about things enough, and usually ends up triggering him by mistake. (Except she wouldn’t make those mistakes if she took five whole _fucking_ minutes to ask Harry what _he_ needs.) She’s his mother though, and he loves her. Just can't spend too much time around her without feeling crazy.

So she keeps him home one weekend, and for the first time ever he argues, because he needs to see Louis, okay, feels like he needs him to breathe, the boy is like oxygen to his hitching lungs. He yells, and his mum yells, and they fight in a way they haven’t before, Harry finally having the energy, and more importantly, courage, to stand up to her.

By the end, she demands he bring Louis home so she can meet him. This is better than not seeing him at all, but is of course stressful and end-of-the-world anxiety causing in an entirely different way. But Harry goes to the woods anyways, and finds Louis sitting under their tree, smoking a fag and singing nursery rhymes under his breath.

“You sing well.” Harry says in lieu of a greeting, startling Louis into sheepish silence. “Coulda been a Bieber.”

“Mm, I wish. Wouldn’t be able to handle the pressure. Where’ve you been, darling? I’ve missed you.” He fusses, real upset in his eyes. They’re a darker blue today, just like the colder weather. They always seem to change together, like Louis really is a part of nature, like Harry’s wanted to be since he was seven and had his first panic attack on a school field trip, curled up in a shaking ball behind some bushes.

Harry knee-shuffles towards him and presses a storybook kiss to his lips, loving the way it feels to make him lose his breath.

“Sorry, my mum and I, er, had a disagreement.” He mumbles, accepting a few more pecks happily.

“Are you alright?” Louis questions, pulling back to look at him. “No attacks?”

“Um, no, but, probably one soon, honestly, because, well.” He stutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. He hates his nose, and in public would never draw attention to it, but Louis always kisses it, says it’s cute like the rest of him, so it’s okay right now.

The other boy waits patiently, stroking his side and counting each rib with pitter-patter fingers.

“She wants to meet you.” He finally says in a gust of air. “I, I told her no but she, she wouldn’t let up, and, like, I guess I can see her point because for all she knows she could be sending her seriously messed up child out to hang out with someone even more seriously messed up, and, like, she wouldn’t want that, obviously.”

Louis’ quiet for a moment, staring at Harry’s knotted necklaces. “But I am more messed up than you, Haz. She’s not gonna approve of me.”

At this, Harry rolls on top of him, kissing Louis’ chin. “No, you’re not." He denies. 

Louis quirks an eyebrow. "I punched a kid last week because he told me I needed anger management." He deadpans, making Harry roll his eyes.

"Look, you have issues, I have issues, we balance each other out." He stresses. "That’s why she will approve, when she sees how much you change me.”

“In a good way, right? I don't want to corrupt you, or something awful.” Louis frowns below him.

“Of course it’s in a good way." Harry promises. "You make me more me, if that’s a thing. I think it’s a thing.”

Louis smirks faintly. “It could definitely be a thing. You make me feel like that too.”

Harry blushes, pleased, and kisses him again. “So then will you come meet my mum? I promise she’ll like you, I mean. I can't promise she won’t interrogate you a bit, but it’s out of caring, and I’ll get her to shut up before she gets too annoying with it. Then we can go to my room and be alone again.”

Louis deflates, nodding.

“Alright, just cause I get to see your room, finally.” He says. “Plus, obviously this is important to you, so of course I will.”

Harry can't help but beam a little, relieved. “You know, no one’s ever listened or cared enough to find out what’s important to me, and then actually help with it. You’re really something, you know? Definitely a catch, any mother would love you.”

At this, Louis’ expression goes dark like a storm and he glances away, grimacing. Harry’s not stupid, he can tell the boy clearly has a personal issue with this, but Harry won’t push it because Harry knows better.

“Hey, look here.” He prompts, making Louis meet his gaze. “Don’t be sad. Now’s not the time to be sad. Now’s the time to come with me, and let me introduce my mum to my boyfriend, and then go make out on my bed.”

“I’m your boyfriend?” Louis asks, delight peeking through. “I mean, I, like, hoped, but I didn't know that’s what you were calling it.”

“Well what the fuck else would I call it?” Harry asks pointedly, making a face.

Louis grins a sunshine smile and hugs him, for no particular reason. Those are Harry’s favorite.

“Good point.” He hums, and they stay there a while.

*

“Mum, this is Louis.” Harry says, holding his hand warmly.

They’re in the front room of his house, Anne sitting on the couch with a book she’s placed to the side, looking Louis over carefully. The smaller boy is almost curled in on himself with nerves, fidgeting and squeezing Harry’s fingers so tight he’s cutting off circulation. Harry doesn't let go.

“Hi.” Louis manages, almost a squeak. He clears his throat and starts again. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you, um.”

“Anne.” She provides, allowing a smile. “So you’re the boy Harry’s been running off to all this time? I was beginning to worry you were imaginary.”

“Mum.” Harry scowls, but she rolls her eyes.

“I’m kidding, H, god. Relax, honey.” She chuckles, like it’s that easy. It’s not that easy, and it makes Harry mad. It seems Louis bristles too, but doesn't say anything, thankfully. “Anyways, it’s nice to meet you, Louis. From what I’ve heard, my son really likes you.”

“Well, that’s good, because I really like your son.” Louis jokes weakly. “I hope that’s okay.”

“God, far be it from me to say it’s not. If you really help him the way he says you do, good on you, Louis, and I hope you stick around for him.” She says, and, see, this is why she’s so frustrating, because she wants the best for Harry, of course she does, but never when the responsibility is her own.

But whatever. She just said she approved of Louis, and that was the point of this, and now Harry can remember to breathe again, snapping back into focus.

“I plan on it.” Louis is telling her, hovering.

“Alright, mum, we’re going to my room. See you.” Harry hurries, pulling his boyfriend away. As they go up the stairs, she calls out a slightly mocking _have fun_ , and Harry swears under his breath.

“Shh, come on, it’s fine.” Louis soothes. “Show me your room, love.”

So Harry does. He shows Louis his records and his posters and his dumb old gummy bracelet collection, and Louis only ever reacts with intrigue and genuine interest, and Harry loves him. He fucking loves this boy.

They kiss on his bed for what feels like years, slow, languid, dragging movements that steal the coherent thoughts right out of his brain and hide them away somewhere he can't find. Times like these, he doesn't have to worry, doesn't have to freak out over the fact that his mum doesn't understand him, doesn't have to obsess over the incessant chirping of a bird outside his window, doesn't even distress over the fact that Louis’ knee is digging into his _favorite_ teddy bear, because when Louis kisses him, everything else fades away.

“I don't know how you put up with her. I would’ve lost my shit ages ago.” Louis mutters after, when he’s laying on Harry’s chest. “I mean, she’s nice, I’m not, like, attacking your mum or summat. Just. I seriously admire your restraint.”

“Well, yeah, I guess. I mean, I don’t get mad like you do, though. You explode, and I, like, implode. Like a star. I just panic and freak out, you know? You lash out, instead.” Harry explains. His boyfriend nods. “But, yeah, I’m just about at the end of my, like, rope with her. I would move out, but like. I’d have to find a place, and, and meet all these people, and deal with them and make decisions, and, like, _no_. No.”

Louis sounds an understanding noise into his shirt. “I know how you feel. I need to be away from people. Distance, you know? Like our spot. If I could live on the top of Mount Fucking Everest, I would.”

Harry laughs softly. “I dunno, you’d get pretty cold up there, Lou.”

“Nuh uh. We’d get parkas and lanterns and share body heat. We’d get to cuddle nonstop, like penguins.” Louis informs him, and he loves the way they’ve begun to talk in ‘we’s always, like it’s an absolute fact that they’ll always be with each other.

“Mm, alright, if you say so.” Harry plays along. “I trust you.”

And it’s the truth. He’d follow Louis anywhere, like a lost little puppy dog, trotting after him in the rain and whining for affection and love. It’s not that far off from the truth.

*

“I’m so fucking done, god.” Louis grumbles the second he sits down beside him. He stayed the night at Harry’s place two days ago, and Harry hasn’t heard from him since. There’s a bruise on his arm, purple like his favorite jumper, and Harry touches it despairingly.

“What happened?”

“My parents hate having such a mental patient for a son.” He spits. “They’d have me institutionalized, if it wouldn’t ruin their reputation.”

Harry’s heart aches, and he snuggles into him closely, nosing at the spot behind his ear. “You’re not mental. You aren’t, Louis.”

And he can almost hear the silent _I didn't say I was_ , but the retort dies on Louis’ tongue, because they both know it’s a defense mechanism, both know he really does feel that way.

“Yeah, well. They get so embarrassed every time I throw a fit, and, like? I try so hard not to, but sometimes I just. It just happens. I need to fucking lose it, because if I don't, I, I literally don't know what would happen. Not good things, Harry.” He mumbles, defeated. Harry kisses his smooth skin.

“I know. I know, and if you ever need to lose it, you can lose it with me. I won’t leave, you know I won’t. Yell all you want, you can't get rid of me.” He promises.

“God, Harry. You just. Everything is wonderful when I’m with you, but everything else around me is falling apart. I don't understand.” Louis sniffles. He sounds lost, and Harry feels it.

“Me either, Louis. It’s. It’s all getting a bit much, and, like. The only time I can even smile anymore, is with you.” He explains, rubbing circles into his back, feeling his favorite boy slowly begin to unwind.

“Yeah. It feels like everything’s building up. Like in a book, you know, leading to the climax. Or like my temper. Everything’s getting more and more and I don't know what’s going to happen.” He admits. It's the first time he’s ever sounded small.

“I don't know.” Harry murmurs honestly. “But whatever it is, we’re together. We’ll be together, Lou.”

“Okay.” Louis whispers, and they don't really move, after that.

*  
Jim increases Harry’s dosage of medicine, after he goes off on a half hour tangent about his infuriating mother. It only angers him further, because the man isn’t helping him, is just giving him more fucking pills, but he doesn't say anything, because who knows when he’ll need to take a handful.

The answer to that is four hours later, when his mother refers to him _special_.

He walks to the forest in a daze, finds Louis in a daze, curls up in his arms in a daze. Louis sings to him, and he cries, but he’s happy, there.

*

The air around them smells thick and sweet, smoke from their spliff drifting up, up and away. Harry is high and everything is pretty, especially Louis. The drug gives him the confidence to say as much, and Louis flushes an even prettier pink.

“Well you’re very pretty yourself, Haz.” He drawls with a smirk, blowing rings of smoke out between them. “Know what else is pretty? Flowers are pretty. I like flowers.”

“I think everyone does.” Harry laughs.

“No. My mum lets our gardens die every year, and I hate it. I would do it myself, but they banned me after I screamed at my sisters for stepping on the tulips. It wasn't on purpose, I just didn't want them to kill my flowers.” He sulks, passing Harry the joint.

“That’s stupid.” Harry states, strained, after a long drag. “They can't get mad at you for wanting people not to ruin your hard work. Anyone would lose their temper about that Louis, even me.”

“Yeah, except you’d go have a cry in your room, you wouldn’t threaten to punch your eight year old twin sisters in the face.” Louis counters pointedly, rolling his eyes, seemingly at himself.

Harry’s a little surprised, because he didn't know it was _that_ extreme, and when he widens his eyes subconsciously, Louis falters, hurt.

“It’s not on purpose.” He whispers, desperate.

“Hey, shh, I know.” Harry hushes, kissing him soft and sleepy. “Just a weird thing to imagine. But whatever, Louis, you could threaten to punch _me_ in the face and I’d help you plant a whole fucking field of flowers.”

Louis glows, like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Yeah? I really love flowers, they’re pretty.” He states, sucking in another drag.

Harry plays with his fingers and traces the veins in his wrist. “So you’ve said.” He titters. “What are your favorites, hm? What flowers are the prettiest?”

“Lots.” Louis considers, tilting his head to the side. “I like daisies and tulips and roses. Chrysanthemums and lilacs too, cause they bring all the pretty butterflies in. But my favorites are dandelions.”

“Those are weeds, Louis.” Harry says dryly, and then cuts off laughing. “ _Weed_.”

“Loser.” Louis snorts, but it’s fond. “And shut up, doesn't mean they’re not pretty. They’re the best ones.”

“Why? They’re everywhere, and they bring about all the bad bugs.” Harry says absentmindedly, busy trying to imitate Louis’ smoke blowing skills. He fails, obviously, but Louis gives him an A for effort and that’s enough.

“Because they change.” Louis yawns, canopy eyelashes casting shadows over his slightly stubbly cheeks. Forget lilacs, the butterflies are busy in Harry's stomach. “They start off all bright and yellow, excited for the world, and then the word steps on them and bites at them and tosses them around, and they realize it sucks there and it’s best to go, and they turn into those cute little fluff balls, and the wind carries each little fluff umbrella to a new place, for a new one to grow, and hopefully the world won’t be so shitty, there.”

When he’s done, he’s quiet, scuffing his shoe against some dirt.

“I think I like dandelions now.” Harry decides.

Later, they find two fluff balls and blow them away into the breeze, making silent wishes inside their heads. Though, Harry has a sneaking suspicion that they’re probably very similar.

*

Harry has four panic attacks in one day, and his mother gives up and just leaves him in his room, going downstairs to pour herself a large glass of wine. It breaks when there’s a knock at the back door and Louis is peering in the window, startling her into dropping it.

Harry comes rushing downstairs, worries going wild, until he spots his boy in the kitchen, helping his mother clean up the glass. She’s annoyed, glaring between the both of them with blame in her eyes but then Harry steals Louis away to his room and everything is stable again.

“I missed you, so I came after you.” Louis tells him, laying him back down on the bed. “Your mum said you were up here hiding under your blankets, what happened, duck?”

Harry harrumphs tiredly and pulls his pillow over his face. “The world happened. You know.”

“Yeah, I do, I yelled at a uni prof today.” Louis divulges. Harry peeks out curiously. “He did that thing where you ask if you can go to the loo and they go _I think you mean may I_ and I just laid into him, really. Entertained the other students, at least. I just got kicked out of the class, obviously, and whenever I go home I’m seriously gonna get it.”

Harry pulls him close. “Don’t go home, then. I don't want them to hurt you.”

“It’s fine, I’m fine, Harry.” Louis says, a dismissal.

“It’s not fine, because you’re amazing and you don't deserve the shit they give you.” Harry sulks, pulling the blanket up over their heads. Louis kisses him, bites at his lip.

“Neither do you.” He counters.

They’re quiet, listening to the sounds of Anne downstairs, pouring another glass and talking on the phone to Harry’s sister, muffled complaints about his behavior.

“How come we just take it, then? Take everyone’s shit, all the time.” Harry mumbles into his boyfriend’s temple, leaving his lips there.

“Because we’ve never done anything else.” Louis sighs. “Habit, ritual, whatever. That’s all we’ve ever known.”

Harry grapples for his hand and clings to it like a lifeline. “I want to know something else. I want to know you, and just you.” He all but begs.

Louis’ eyes are dark, but only because of their makeshift tent. There’s a telling twinkle that Harry knows means he’s admiring. “You do know me, Hazza, more than anyone else has ever learnt. You stuck around.” He says. And then “Why do you think glue sticks to everything except the inside of the bottle? That’s always bugged me.”

It annoys Harry a smidgen that he’s changing the topic, but really, he knows that it’s not completely intentional, it’s literally just Louis having the attention span of a toddler. And that’s fine, because it’s one of the things he loves about him.

So they debate about glue for half an hour, until Harry goes and digs some out of the back of the hall closet, and they use his old arts and crafts supplies to make stupid drawings and hats and pipe cleaner necklaces, and Harry’s never wanted to live in a moment forever until now.

Louis makes him a crown, and attempts to carry him bridal style down the stairs, and Harry feels like a king. Or a princess, really. He’d rather be a princess.

He’s found the prince charming he never used to believe in, after all. He’s just a bit weird, and that’s the best bit, anyways.

*

Louis goes home, he gets hurt, which in turn hurts Harry, who tells Jim, who offers scripted advice and a pat on the back. This isn’t working. 

Nothing is working.

*

Louis is drawing hearts in the dirt and then scribbling them out with a stick when Harry arrives after his shift, plopping down right in his lap and settling his head in the crook of his neck.

“Hi.” He says quietly, after a moment.

“Hey, love.”

They’re both quiet, defeated, tired. The world is breaking them and they both know it.

“I haven’t seen any squirrels, lately. I miss them.” Louis mutters randomly, lighting a smoke. Harry steals a drag right from his lips, and they both exhale together.

“Let’s go find them, then.” Harry suggests. “They can't have gone far.”

So they stand up and link hands and share a fag as they go, walking round in circles and patterns and zig-zags, playing tag between trees and timidly looking in the holes of the trunks. Harry makes Louis do it, too afraid for something to jump out at him, but the other boy doesn't mind in the slightest, and it’s not hard to tell that he likes feeling brave for him, likes protecting him in such a simple way.

Eventually they find a tree with a squirrel in it, way up high in the branches, looking down on them like a cute, furry little god. It watches cautiously as they attempt to convince it down, talking to it as if it's a human, offering business proposals and marriage proposals and promises of all the nuts in the world. It scurries away though, while they’re busy snickering because _nuts_.

It disappears into a hole too far up for them to reach, and Harry tuts. “I wish I could live in a tree with you. We’d be so happy, you know? The happiest squirrels”

Louis wraps an arm around his waist, and leads him back to the path. “Yeah. I’d go out and get all the acorns, so you wouldn’t have to, and you could stay home and keep me from getting in territory fights with the other dickhead squirrels.”

Harry laughs, dimples deep. “Would you really do all the scavenging yourself? You’re a bit of a lazy lump, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Louis rolls his eyes.

“Course I would, silly. Anything you’re afraid of, I’ll do it for you. Or, rather, with you, because it’s better if we try and help you get over some of that, I think. I’d help in any way possible, though, even if you needed me to, I dunno, piggyback you across a river, or something.” Louis goes on, eyes flickering between the trees and the sky, cheeks sunkissed and button nose slightly burnt, delicate skin beginning to peel.

“I am afraid of water, actually.” Harry informs him, bumping their hips. “But no need to get all heroic, Mr. Big Shot. All I’d need is you holding my hand, I think. And then if I did have a meltdown, you could piggyback me out.”

Louis smiles fondly and kisses his shoulder. “I’ll keep that in mind, sweetheart.”

And really, there’s nothing special or new about the way he says it, nothing monumental, but it’s in the way he squeezes his hip, and meets his eyes with a Disney character twinkle, and steers them away from a little rickety bridge because he knows Harry’d rather die than attempt to cross it.

“I love you.” Harry states, simple. “You’re my favorite, and I love you.”

Louis pauses, in awe, and then lights up like someone’s started a fire within him. “I love you so much, Harry.” He breathes, almost in disbelief. “You have no idea.”

Harry stops them with a tug of his arm and captures his mouth in a kiss, bending down because while Louis may act big and seem big, he’s really quite small. It’s just another lovely thing about the loveliest boy in the world.

“Wish we could stay here forever.” Harry mutters, kissing down his jaw and hugging him close. Louis tenses in his arms, and he pulls back, confused. “What?”

Louis scratches at the nape of his neck. “Erm, there’s something I haven’t told you?”

“Okay?” Harry sing-songs, waiting. His stomach jolts with nerves but he shoves them down because Louis would never let anything happen to him.

“Here, just. Come with me.” Louis asks, holding out a hand. Harry takes it, and follows. “So, that first time I met you, right? Well, I was out here, because, like. My parents don't want me around anymore, you know? I’m too unstable for them. And I mean, I guess I get it, cause it’s not fair to my sisters.”

“It’s not fair to you, that they don't try and understand.” Harry interrupts, and Louis smiles.

“Yeah, well. Anyways, my granddad had this little cabin out here, in the woods. And, like, he never used it, and technically the city couldn’t remove it because of some old laws, or paperwork, or something, so it’s just been sitting out here. He left it to our family for vacations, but it’s really small and my sisters always hated it. All obsessed with their hair and makeup and electronics, you know.” Louis keeps explaining as they walk, swinging their hands between them. “And so I was out here, because my dad gave me the key, and basically told me to beat it. And, like, fine, so I stayed in it for a night or two, but it was lonely by myself, and so I went back home. He wasn't happy about it, but he couldn’t really do much, didn't want to actually sit me down and have the _you’re not the kid we wanted so now we want you to leave_ talk, or whatever.”

Harry frowns at their dirty sneaker clad feet, his pigeon toed and Louis’ taking swift and easy strides. He wants to say something, comment on what a fucking _twat_ Louis’ father is, but that’s well known information, so he stays silent.

“But lately he’s made it really clear, that, like. I need to get out. And I was just gonna sell the cabin, and get a flat, because I do like it out here, so fucking much, but all by myself would be too much isolation, I think. I’d go crazy, and then I’d yell at all the animals and I’d be known from there on out as _the crazy guy who lives in the woods_.” Louis smirks. He pulls Harry in another direction, and he goes easily.

“Well, you’re not that far off as it is.” Harry teases, and gets a scoff in return.

“Cheeky. Anyways, here’s the thing. I kept the place, cause I met you, and you, like, became a future, for me. Something important, and special, and, like, someone I had to incorporate into my plans. I haven’t had that in a long time, maybe ever, really? And if you mean it when you say you’re going to stay with me, through all my tantrums and shit, because let me tell you, they rival a grumpy toddler’s-”

“Then I don't mind being the babysitter, for a while.” Harry winks warmly. “Seriously, we’ve been through this, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Well, then.” Louis flusters, walking a few more feet and then stopping, pointing to a small clearing. There’s a gorgeous wooden cabin there, quaint but big enough to be cozy, windows lined with patterned curtains and porch decorated with a rocking chair and a rusted table. The area around it is grown over, from time passing by, grass too high and weeds too thick, but there’s a pile of chopped wood mixed in there, promising a fireplace inside, and god, it’s perfect, really.

Louis must see his state of shock, because he chuckles nervously.

“So yeah, this is it, and...I wanted to ask, if. If I kept it, would you...would you wanna live here with me? Like the squirrels?” Louis asks, adorable and scared.

“I.” Harry struggles, unsure. Because while it may literally be his dreams come true, he has to consider the fact that this means moving out of his childhood home, which is his safety net, and telling his mother that he’s running away to a cabin in the woods with a strange boy she doesn't seem to quite approve of, and it also means _growing up_ , and when the world treats you like a child all your life, even at the age of nineteen, that’s a very scary thing to do.

Louis seems to understand, though.

“I’m not pushing, Hazza. Why don't you come see the inside, at least? I know for a fact you’re going to love the den, it has a sunroof.”

That’s a lot less pressure, so Harry nods, perking up at the mention of a skylight (he doesn't bother correcting Louis on the term, thinks it’s cute when know it all boy messes something up), and Louis guides him to the cabin, up the creaky steps, in through the chipped and scratched door. His key is one of those printed ones, with Tinkerbell on it, and Harry grins.

Inside, it’s even lovelier. Louis gives him the tour, showing everything from the kitchen to the coat closet, and though the place really is quite small, it doesn't seem that way in the slightest. The bathroom is tiled sky blue, much like Louis’ eyes, and the den really does have a skylight, giving a gorgeous view of the candy floss clouds above.

“Here, this is the bedroom.” Louis says, pulling him through the last door. It’s all wooden interior like most of the place, but the bed is big and comfy and the chest of drawers is all but majestic, vintage and probably antique by the looks of it. The window is a little too close to the bed for comfort, but Harry has a feeling Louis would happily take that side for him, even do his best to push the whole bed to a different spot for his peace of mind.

“Jesus, this is wonderful, Lou.” Harry mumbles, spinning in a circle.

“Yeah, kinda is.” Louis shrugs. He sits on the bed, and pats the spot next to him. Harry settles there, criss cross applesauce. “Do you think maybe this could be a _thing_? Us living here together? Cause, Harry, I’m so sorry if this makes you panic, but there’s nothing I want more than to just disappear out here with you, for as long as possible, forever, preferably.”

“That, of all things, would never make me panic.” Harry smiles. “But, it’s just, it’s a lot, you know? My mum...would be so angry.”

“ _So what,_ though? That woman doesn't control your life, Harry. You’re nineteen, you can make your own choices, you are _not_ an invalid. I know everyone treats you that way, but it doesn't mean you are.” Louis tells him, taking both hands in his. There’s a new scrape across a few of his knuckles, and Harry wonders who he hit, hopes it’s no one, then hopes it’s his father.

“It feels like it.” Harry sighs.

“But _look_ at you. You’re right here making this decision with me. I don't mean that in the way of, like, you’ve decided to live here with me. I mean it in the sense of, like, you’re sitting here, perfectly capable of making your own choices, and that’s exactly what you’re gonna do. Whatever your choice is, I’ll be okay with it, I just. I just thought maybe this could be ours. Always said we wanted to stay out here away from everyone, right?” Louis clarifies, hopeful lilt to his voice.

Harry nods, hooking their thumbs. “Yeah. We did. I just, I dunno. I dunno.” He groans, shutting his eyes and biting his lip. “God, why is everything so fucking hard.”

“Because the world’s a shit place.” Louis answers. “And that’s why I thought this would be a good idea, because you said it isn’t as hard when you’re with me, right? When you’re away from people? I just, I dunno, Harry. I just want you to be happy. That’s all I want. What would make you happy?”

Harry counts his breathing and feels Louis press a kiss to his fringe. He looks up with damp eyes and sniffs. “This.”

“So why not?” Louis asks again, bouncing up to straddle his waist, cupping his cheeks and bumping their noses eskimo style. “Why not, Harry? Fuck our stupid families, and all the rest of the world. This is our happiness. Why should we give that up, just because you’re scared, and I’m angry? I don't think that’s fair.”

“It’s not.” Harry mumbles. 

“So fuck it, Harry. Be a squirrel with me, be a dandelion fluff and go on an adventure, be the fly that gets away from the spider web. Be whatever you want, in the whole wide world, and be it with me.”

His eyes are shining and his lips are wet, and Harry lets this feeling consume him whole, finally just lets it all go and surrenders himself to what he _wants_.

“Okay.” He nods, because no one and nothing compares the the feeling in his chest when Louis is around him. “Okay, I’ll live here with you.”

The pixie-like boy has never ever looked so happy.

“Really?” He asks, in shock, and when Harry nods again, he flings himself onto him and tumbles them back on the plushy comforter, peppering kisses all over, making Harry giggle and shriek.

“Lou!” He protests, but the other boy doesn't let up, begins tickling him and cackling at his squeals. It turns into a lovebite filled wrestle fight, until Harry pins Louis down and they abandon the pretense, christening their new bed with gasps and moans and whimpers.

*

His mum is mad. She yells and argues gives ultimatums, but she can't do anything, and when Harry breaks down at her harsh words, he calls Louis and the boy comes over to kiss the sadness out of him, and then help him pack up his things. They’ve decided on a moving date next week; needing to rent a city vehicle of all things, to drive stuff into the forest. Harry’s been filled to the brim with childlike glee, never felt so giddy in his life.

Louis, though incredibly cautious, agrees to let Harry come with him to move some of his own things, after a long, long persuasion. His house is large and fancy, family clearly coming from some money, but Louis looks at everything like he wants to burn it to the ground, so Harry hates it all too, for him. They pass a few young girls wordlessly, who stare but don't speak, and Harry knows those are his sisters. Louis’ room is simple, a few fist shaped holes in the wall, some shoe scuffs on the door, signs of upset everywhere. Harry wants out, wants them both out. They will be soon, he reminds himself.

As they’re putting things in boxes, someone clears their throat in the doorway, and they both glance up to see Mr. Tomlinson there, arms crossed, face unforgiving.

“So you’re going, then?” He asks emotionlessly, and Harry sees Louis’ hand twitch. He reaches for it, taking it into his own, but that’s the wrong move to make. “Is this your little boyfriend?”

He says it in such an utterly _mocking_ way that Harry isn’t at all surprised when Louis' fuse only lasts about a second.

“Shut _up_ , you fucking cunt!” He explodes, with impressive volume. “Just who do you think you are? You spend all this fucking time dropping the least fucking subtle hints ever that you want me out, and now here I am, fulfilling your one _fucking_ wish in the world, and you think you can walk in here and treat my boyfriend like crap? Go fuck yourself! You’re disgusting, and vile, and a piece of shit, and I’m fucking _ecstatic_ to be getting away from you!”

It’s deathly silent after, the only sound being a rustling of Harry rubbing circles into his boyfriend’s flexing arm.

And then Mr. Tomlinson _laughs_. He turns to Harry, and asks, with more derision that he ever thought possible, “And you want to live with _that_?”

Louis shuts down immediately, closing in on himself and hanging his head. The man in the door is intimidating, but Harry’s love for Louis overpowers any fear he has within him.

“I do, actually.” He says, swallowing down the lump of anxiety in his throat, the tall man’s cold stare boring into him. “And personally, I think the fact that you don't is appalling.”

Louis’ eyes widen, and Mr. Tomlinson steps forward, and Harry recoils, and Louis jumps in front of him, and then Mrs. Tomlinson is there, pinched face and pursed lips.

“Stop it.” She instructs her husband. “Let him leave.”

And they do, because that’s what they _want_. It’s disgusting, and when they walk away, Harry holds Louis on his bed and lets him cry into his tank top (which is actually Louis’, they’ve come to swap clothes like Pokémon cards), murmuring comfort in his ear.

“All on our own, Lou, just us, never gonna have to deal with them again, shh sweetie, I love you, I love you forever.”

“Why aren’t you afraid of me?” Louis asks, snuffling closer. “You should be, by all logic.”

“I don’t think logic’s a _thing_ , here.” Harry smirks. “We kinda defy all that.”

Louis kisses him hard, and keeps going even when unknown family members pass by the room.

*

They get a few things done in the meantime; receive a postal address, steal some gardening supplies from Louis’ garage, some booze from Harry’s cellar.

They paint the doors and shutters of their cabin a cheery yellow, because it reminds them of dandelions and The Wizard of Oz and sunshine, and when Louis accidentally spills some on the porch, he snaps and gets so angry at himself he breaks one of the banisters, but Harry holds him round the waist and coos soft sounds into his hair, until he whimpers and deflates into him.

“I'm sorry, sorry, god, I ruin everything. M’like the fucking Hulk.” Louis mutters thickly, scrubbing at his eyes.

“No, Lou, you make everything better. Look, we don’t even have to worry about it, we can just move the table there and the whole problem is gone, see? Shh, darling. Everything’s _fine_. Better than fine, everything’s perfect.”

*

Moving day is long and torturous on many levels, but amazing nonetheless.

The day before, Harry calls in sick to work, almost choking with nerves as he does, but Louis holds his hand supportively, and when the older boy throws a fit because he can't find his fucking key (it’s in his pocket, of course), Harry just wraps him up in his arms and waits for the fire to burn out. It does, and Louis apologizes, and Harry tells him there’s no need, and they move on.

Bright and early, they drive their stuff to the cabin and haul boxes and bags inside, careful to avoid a stick-out nail that snagged the first garbage bag of the day, spilling Harry’s socks and boxers all over the front steps. He’d cried with stress and mortification, but Louis held him until he calmed, promising there was nothing to be embarrassed about, and then distracted him with facts about all the materials that would make for better trash bags.

It takes a while to sort through everything, keeps them busy through the day and up well into the night, but Louis makes tea for him and coffee for Harry, they sit on the den floor and organize shelves and bins and such. Louis gets distracted easily, but Harry’s so particular that he picks up the slack easily, happily, and when they finally collapse into bed around four in the morning, they don't even have the energy to undress, just press a lazy kiss between them and doze off.

They sleep in until two in the afternoon, and waking up in Louis’ arms, in their bed, is something Harry knows he’ll never get used to. They trade closed mouth kisses until Louis complains about _hungry_ and Harry complains about _dirty_ so they share their first shy shower together, all timid touches and longing stares, and then Harry makes brunch for them, Louis sitting on the counter and flipping the eggs on the old stove when asked, because Harry’s too nervous. They eat together happily, still in their towels, and then eventually get productive and finish what they hadn’t the day before; emptying belongings into drawers in Louis’ case, lining them up neatly in Harry’s, and then folding the boxes down together outside. Or, rather, Louis jumps all over them, and Harry watches on with infatuated giggles.

Their first day is perfect. They smoke on the porch, kiss nonstop, and then Louis goes out while they still have the city vehicle to grab groceries, and knowing it would only stress Harry out to tag along, suggests the taller boy try out the rocking chair on the porch. He does, sitting down to read a book, and loves the relaxing sunshine so much that he falls asleep, waking to Louis kissing over each eyelid softly.

“Hi, sleepyhead. You good with pasta? I bought a ready-made.” He says, and all Harry can do is nod.

They eat dinner in front of the one small telly in the den, legs overlapping and bodies snug together, sipping wine that stains their mouths and watching the sky above them grow darker and darker.

“Let’s go outside, I remember there used to be fireflies round here.” Louis announces, and Harry clambers up eagerly.

They walk around hand in hand, Louis with a large, very old looking torch so they can see where they’re going. It’s eerily dark at night, here, but Harry isn’t scared, not with his favorite boy beside him. He could conquer mountains, so long as he had his hand to hold.

They find some fireflies eventually, and Louis wants to catch them in jars but Harry won’t let him, and one lands on Harry’s head and he has a brief episode, but Louis soothes him like only he knows how, and by the end of the night, they're sitting with both their hands held out together, glowing yellow bugs flitting about in their palms.

Louis kisses Harry’s cheek and whispers “Love you, weirdo.”

Harry rolls his eyes, but turns to kiss him properly. “Love you too, lunatic.”

*

They find an easy balance, Harry going to work and a new therapist on a regular schedule, visiting his mum on a not so regular one. Louis has a few uni classes a week, for a degree that Harry can't remember no matter how many times he's told, and sometimes they go out, do things Harry used to be too scared to, talk to people Louis would have fought with before; make progress, because they can.

But the rest of their time is spent in the forest, by themselves, surrounded by nature and all things beautiful.

Harry, true to his word, gets Louis all the different flowers he could want, and helps him plant them everywhere, in his own unique method, making sure to spread lots and lots of dandelion seeds, even if the sales clerk had given him a strange look for it earlier. His boyfriend is so happy he jumps into his arms and they spin in circles like idiots, neither caring because it’s just them, here.

Louis buys a squirrel house (“It’s like a bird house, except for squirrels.” “No, really?” “Cheeky! When did you get so cheeky?” “You’ve rubbed off on me.” “ _Literally_.” “God, shut up, come kiss me.”), and they fill the little home with trailmix and goldfish crackers, watching through their bedroom window as the cute critters come closer, exploring and munching contently. Harry sounds a happy sigh, and Louis echoes it back.

There’s still panic attacks and anger outbursts, of course, and both have moody days where they lash out, but neither were naive enough to think that would just go away. Louis doesn't mind helping Harry with things he finds too stressful, calming him down when he panics, and Harry doesn't mind Louis shouting at him when he needs to let it all out. Because then they’ll kiss, and everything will be okay again. 

And they have their own little corner of the world, and it’s safe and lovely and perfect, and Harry decides that while squirrels are certainly superior to people, he doesn't mind being a human, so long as Louis’ one too.


End file.
